Return to Amity Park
by seghen
Summary: No one means to lose contact. It's not a voluntary action, but this is exactly what Sam Manson has accidentally done. The past is done, but the future is in question when none other than Danny Phantom has changed allegiances...
1. Chapter 1

**I apologize, most of this chapter is mostly information. the story will progress next chapter, I promise. sorry if it drags a little this chapter, suggestions welcome! my first Danny Phantom fic.**

When you are fourteen years old, everything has such...promise. No matter what you may say, how greatly you may exaggerate how dissatisfied you are with your current situation. Every girl secretly hopes that they will marry their high-school crush, every boy wants to date the head cheerleader. Everything seems attainable and the world looks like its covered in sunshine smiles and gumdrop rainbows. Samantha Manson, thankfully, never believed any of that.

She sometimes wondered the results if she were to poll the graduating class of 2008 six years later and see what they had to see about their own ridiculous aspirations. The cynicalness in her nature could not help but imagine the ridiculous revelations that Paulina would face when she finally saw that good looks and money could not take her everywhere. She was not Paris Hilton. Dash would be utterly useless without an endless supply of geeks to torture on a daily basis, and Kwan would be nowhere without his army of brainless drones to support every hair-brained scheme and idea that he concocted.

The one weakness that we mere mortals must face and that not even Sam could avoid was the natural assumption that your nearest and dearest friends would remain so for the rest of your life. After graduation both she and Tucker attempted to retain contact, fighting alongside with Danny. There was no significant falling out, nothing that she could regret or wish to amend. Tucker received a full academic scholarship to Ohio State and from their the partnership slowly dissipated into friendly silence.

Danny Fenton faded slowly but surely into his alter ego, super hero or menace to society, depending on your outlook. Weeks without contact became months, and months quickly advanced to years. It could easily be said that she was led into a depression or some sort of lethargic behavior, but it was an assumption based on no fact whatsoever. Life was, unfortunately, far less interesting at the age of twenty-four than it was at fourteen. No ghosts to take attention off of her studies, no supernatural beings to throw her quips at. her existence was, dare she say it? Normal, by every definition.

The pain of unrequited love faded with the emotional maturity of her soul, the realization that maybe, just _maybe _it was not real, that it was a silly girlhood crush that she should have given up on long ago. It was the _maybe _that continued to torture her. With every passing day her thoughts on Danny and high-school diminished into nothing more than memories, and by the age of twenty-four she had accepted the fact that their friendship was, in fact, over.

The phone rang in the distance, nearly three rooms away from Sam's current position. "Tim!" She called out demandingly, attaching the long and chandelier-like earrings to herself, admiring her own reflection before dabbing on a bit more eyeliner. He made no answer and she was forced to tear herself away from the vanity table and dive for the telephone on its last ring.

"What is it?" She snapped, so reminiscent of her angry gothic fourteen-year-old persona that she was forced to recall her actual age. She had a very important meeting to attend, one in which she needed to appear positively perfect...and that was never her forte.

The caller relinquished no more than a stifled and tense sigh, instantly causing Sam to suppose this to be a woman. It was an unfair assumption, something based on nothing more than her past experience with her own sex, in uncomfortable moments women were known to sigh, as though to keep silences to a minimum without actually speaking.

"Hello? Who is this?" When pressured Sam was just about as charming as a nail in someone's rear end, and she was very successful in the practice of frightening someone out of silence. She wondered whether or not she should have this patented.

"Sam?" Her original guess was incorrect, though it was close enough.

Shocked, Sam sputtered for a moment before retaining her cool. "Tuck? God, is that really you? It's a bit early to be calling for the ten year reunion." The person on the other line was none other than Tucker Foley.

The silence was an uncomfortable one, quite similar to the one's she and Danny often shared after a comment was made to insinuate that the two were anything more than friends. "Sam, I need your help. _We _need your help." The other part of the equation was undoubtedly Danny, she felt no need to verify this.

"What's up?" Her meeting was, for the moment, completely forgotten.

She could imagine him shifting and glancing down at his second rate shoes with embarrassment, whether or not the situation required any sort of shame. "It's Danny...there's something wrong, have you been watching the news?" She didn't see how the disastrous plastic surgery folly of one of Hollywood's elite pertained to Danny Fenton/Phantom.

He took the resounding silence as a negative, despite her usual learnedness on the issues of the day. "He's...there's something seriously wrong with him and I-" This was where she lost him, her attention diverted to the entrance of her live-in boyfriend, Tim Otis.

"Hey, Sammy, have you seen my tie?" She silenced him with a spastic hand motion before gesturing to the telephone. He was not what one would suppose of Sam's significant other, he was a tall, broad man with pale green eyes and light brown hair who, though attractive, was by no means an Abercrombie model.

"I'm sorry, Tuck, can you call back in a few hours, I have to get to a meeting." The entry of Tim had some bearings on this urgency, that and the fact that he seemed resolved to remain.

"But-alright." He surrendered, knowing that there was no way he could possibly convince her otherwise. His distress was heard and not forgotten, and even as the day continued to progress, she could not forget what he had said..._have you been watching the news? _How bad was it?

**the beginning definitely dragged, an I apologize for that. i hope that this will not stop people from continuing with the story.**


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for all of the reviews, they are appreciated! I'm inspired so; better take advantage of it while it lasts!

Dispassionately Sam plucked at a strand of her mother's pearls that she despised wearing, thoughtfully attempting to look interested as her Editor in Chief spoke of fluctuating sale increases and decreases over the past eleven months. She knew perfectly well that this was leading somewhere, boosting someone inside the small and well-decorated quarters to a promotion. She had stayed up half the night hoping that it would be her, that she would advance from making meaningless reviews to an actual position of some importance, front-page worthy. Now she could only think of what Tucker had said.

She could not believe that she was so immersed in her own 'home-style' universe that she did not realize any wrongs that may be occurring in her hometown. Sam's parents were ecstatic when they heard of her position in "Home-style Living," Something that neither of them dared to dream she would ever achieve. It was not impassioned work, but it was work all the same. She did not find interviewing housewives on their detergent habits to be invigorating, but it was worth it all to have her name possibly recognized by a mainstream magazine.

Mitchell reveled in the tense suspense, loving the fact that his words hinged the future of one of his employees, or so he assumed. "Due to the fact that Linda Martinez has stepped down from her former position, it has been my decision and honor to select Samantha Manson to take over her position." She glanced up in surprise, glancing at his grinning face and the glares of the others.

"Huh, what?" He took this as shock opposed to disinterest and shook her firmly by the hand, yanking her up from the plush chair she had been rooted in.

"Despite her evident lack of style and ineptitude when it comes to matters of the home, her articles will require no pictures to identify her and she is by far the best we have on the staff." He beamed, presenting her like a dog going through the paces.

"Excuse me, what?" She questioned, looking down on her outfit in surprise.

"I apologize for cutting this meeting unceremoniously short, but I am needed elsewhere," He said hastily, patronizing Sam by patting her shoulder childishly before hastily snatching his belongings and retreating. She was a bit disappointed by the anticlimactic reaction she was receiving and attributed this to the funk she had been put into this morning. Two of her coworkers and pleasant acquaintances cast both her and her clothing a scathing glare, not seeming to note or care that she had significantly dressed up for this 'honor.'

Upon returning to her car Sam was unsurprised to see her cell phone blinking the message 'four missed calls.' Should shocked her was the fact that only one of them was from Tim and the remaining three were from an unknown number, though the area code was vaguely familiar; Amity Park.

Nervously she returned Tim's call firstly, knowing that he was on edge and curious as to whether or not she attained the greatly coveted promotion. She could not help but spite Tucker for ruining what could have been a celebratory occasion, something Tim had 'stealthily' bought wine for and made 'reservations' at the nearest Nasty Burger, the franchise had grown.

"Hey, Tim, it's me, Sam. I got the promotion but I'm running late for an, er, previous engagement, but I'll see you at home." She didn't romanticize the relationship and saw no viable reason to do so. She definitely had feeling for him, their living situation required it, but she held no fantasy of him as some sort of prince charming, but there could be a future with him…something that she could not stop from exciting her.

As the urge to call tuckered emerged the phone seemed to comply as it sounded cheerfully. She had been incapable of changing her rind tone to anything that mildly resembled her persona. For the most part she kept it on vibrate, though Tim enjoyed switching it off just to aggravate her. The triumphant sound of flutes and a summer orchestra seemed to suggest that he did just that.

"Tuck?" She questioned, though she knew the answer.

"Where have you been? I had to hack into the phone company records to trace your cell, and you didn't pick up!" His panic worried her and she quickly assured him of her safety.

"All in three minutes work, I gather?" She teased, attempting to brighten his already dampened spirits. "I had a meeting at…the magazine I work form and it was super important." Talking with him brought her back to the high-school age, the awkward slang and all.

"Where do you work, GothTeen Monthly?" He questioned in all seriousness, and a hue of radish rose to her cheeks as he spoke. Thank the lord he did not expect a response. "You need to come back, it's important." She furrowed her brow and settled into the comfort of her seat.

"Oh god, I thought you were in Ohio, what are you doing back in Amity Park? And what's wrong with Danny?" She still had not had time to catch the news, though the radio had shed no light on the situation and the newspapers were not blaring any strange, supernatural related reports. She could imagine him shifting his trademark hat nervously, though she doubted he could possibly still own that ratty old thing.

"It's bad. Jazz called me back a month ago and…well, it's really bad. I guess the mayor and everyone is trying to keep it off the news the best they can, but some of the deaths have leaked out. I thought you would recognize it." He thought wrong.

"Tuck, what…is going on? How's Danny handling this, what, did Vlad come back or Skulker, or is it a new threat? Talk to me." The past six years of her life seemed to fade into intangibility as she spoke anxiously, her vertical half-ponytail and excess of purple lipstick coming to mind.

Tucker sighed again, a habit proving to be of the utmost irritation. She was tempted to shout at him, but knew it would do no good. Tuck did his own thing in his own time; there was no rushing him. "It's…_Danny, _Sam." She blinked obtusely, tapping her fingernails on the steering wheel impatiently.

"I get that Tucker, you told me before. Now what's the new threat?" She questioned angrily, attempting to conceal her own worry and discomfort with her usual defense mechanism.

She was not the only one growing irritated, Tucker paused to roll his eyes. "No, Sam, _Danny's _the threat, he's completely…he's, he's _gone_." She heard him perfectly, but refused to believe her own ears.

"Gone where?" This stupidity was uncharacteristic, but _Danny, evil? _They prevented that on more than one occasion, mostly by both Tucker and Sam staying alive. He didn't answer; knowingly realizing that silence would be the best affirmation. Thoughts of the fine wine and cheap takeout faded from any recollection as Danny's image came into sharp focus.

"Danny?" She questioned weakly, her free arm falling limp. "He…he can't. He's…Danny, what about his parents? Jazz?"

Tucker sighed, a habit that made Sam wish she were near him so that she could rip his throat out. "Jazz is still here, but Mr. and Mrs. Fenton are gone-not dead! Just, gone. They've been out of the country for nearly a year on ghost-hunting business, and Jazz's been able to keep this under wraps but…it's really bad. Three people are dead, the school has a ghost guard, everyone's picked up cheap trinkets to keep themselves safe…very few of which work, naturally. Whatever happened to truth in advertising?" She was in utter shock, the disbelief seeping through to her as the inner voice in her mind bellowed that this could not be true.

"How…why…when?" She stuttered, her mouth going dry.

"You're starting to sound like a newspaper, no wonder you went into the magazine business. I…_we _need you here, Sam. We can't reveal _Danny Phantom _a.k.a. Inviso-Bill's true identity to anyone else. They've already set up a dead-only bounty." Sam was not worried about Danny's wellbeing, at least physically, he was nearly unbeatable as a fumbling adolescent, and now that he was nearly twenty-five there would be no stopping him. The people in Amity Park would soon meet their dooms if they kept up with this nonsense.

Without knowing what she was saying or thinking of the consequences Sam spoke in a voice unlike her own, "I'm coming."

Next chappie goodbyes with Tim, travel, and arrival. I'll try to crank it out as quickly as this one!


	3. Chapter 3

**-I just corrected an error, therefore resulting in this edit on the subject of leather and character consistency, i would like to thank Leppers for pointing this out! if you already read, no need to do so again.**

**This is significantly longer than the other chapters. I intended on stopping it halfway through, but decided to continue. I'm expecting reviews for all this! If you find the characters OOC, just tell me and I'll do my best to remedy the situation. Enjoy! PS, don't own Danny Phantom, and at least one of the jokes used is rehashed from Control Freaks.**

She could hardly believe her own density. Nearly three years since she had so much received a Christmas card from any of them and on one urgent report she was willing to throw everything out the window just because Danny was in trouble? She could not comprehend why it was that she was willing to throw years of work out the window when an old friend was in need. How would she explain this to her editor? She doubted that she would even be able to come up with a viable excuse for her absence, and with a new promotion in her belt it would be nearly impossible.

Despite all of her doubts and second guesses, she never paused as she ripped open her multiple drawers and was rained on by numerous articles of clothing. Her suitcase, made of fine, coarse pleather lay open in the ready, prepared to swallow any and all clothing that she fed it. She kicked off her flats and strapped on her old combat books, feeling somewhat calmed by the weight and strength her feet now offered. She had no time to change out of her 'work scrubs' before she made the flight she had hastily forced her travel agent to make…yes, Sam Manson _did _have a travel agent via her parents' wishes. One of the few times she complied.

Nearly three years ago both Mr. and Mrs. Manson had decided to move from Amity Park in search of a less 'obnoxious' setting, doing their best to send as many irritating postcards as they could manage.

She tossed three skirts into the suitcase, snatching a carry-on bag to load with the usual books and entertainment. She paused as she glanced down at the bottom of her jewelry box. There was something there she did not recall placing there…a pair of green earrings, ten years old. The same ones that had protected her against Ember's music spell when she was in high school. They clashed with her outfit, horribly out of place, but she clipped them on nonetheless.

"Sam?" A bewildered voice called out behind her. Tim was home, and he was not the type to stand by while his girl packed her bags and fled. By the time Sam had turned to face him he was already putting her clothes away. "What the hell are you doing?" He asked, glancing down at her new footwear in confusion. "Are we going to war, did I miss something?" Sam went to undo the damage he had done, loading her clothing back.

"Sort of," She said aloud without truly meaning to. "This is important, I've got to go." He looked at her bewilderedly. He was a pretty boy, but he was no fool. Tim had majored in political science and had a minor in psychology, something that often led him to outsmart even Sam in some few and far between instances.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question.

Sam looked back at him despairingly, removing her pearl necklace and tossing it recklessly to the bureau. "For now, I'm not _leaving_, just leaving." She said, knowing that it made minimal sense but not truly caring all the same. "I'll be back, I'm like the Terminator." She promised, removing her dress-jacket and throwing on Tim's torn jean one.

"What's wrong? I hate being question guy, but it seems like you're the one that stuck me in that position." He stated with more than a bit of hostility, his eyes alight with confusion and anger.

"I was going to leave a note, Tim, but you know Amity Park?" She implored, still packing furiously.

After a beat he answered, "Yeah, that weird place you lived in for a while? I heard something about it on the Today Show, but what does that have to do with anything?"

She glanced over her shoulder fleetingly before returning to the job at hand. "Everything," She was not about to lie to the man she had shared an apartment with for over a year, the same man she was certain loved her. "One of my friends is in big trouble down there, one of my _old _friends. Jazz Fenton called to tell me." She lied, knowing that his jealousy would spark if she mentioned the fact that Tucker had in fact been the one to enlist her help.

His expression of confusion instantly dissolved to worry, in two strides he was by her side. "Alright." He said brazenly, leaning beside her and scooping up some of her unmentionables and carefully folding them. She blushed with embarrassment, but continued packing nonetheless. "How long are you going to be gone?" She was amazed to find that he was asking no more questions about the issue at hand, and it could not help but send a flare of affection through her.

"I'm not sure, I'd say at least a week, maybe more. _Jazz _sounded really desperate, and _she's _one of my oldest friends." He did not seem to take note on the involuntary inflection of her voice and continued to assist her.

"I can cover for you for a few days, and just tell your boss that…you have a lead in Amity Park, that there's some fashion show occurring or something like that, or that there's a Martha Stewart in the making. And you got the promotion, congratulations." He said, shyly yielding the bottle of wine he had briefly discarded. "We'll celebrate when you get back, I can wait." He said, protectively wrapping his arm over her shoulder.

"Definitely." She never thought of herself as a sucker for any of that romantic mumbo-jumbo, but he brought out that part of her without even trying. It was getting more and more difficult to say that she didn't love him yet. "I'll call you when I get there, and my boss, just so he can't kill me or make me come back." She could tell by the brazing look in his eyes that he was trying very hard not to force her to stay, even beg. But he resisted and stepped away, observing her cautiously.

"I don't remember those, are they knew?" He said, gesturing to her earrings. She blushed, recalling the 'moment' she and Danny had shared after he had given her them, how he had been forced to fall madly in love with her.

"They're pretty old, actually." She informed him with a forced smile, using her hair as a veil to cover them.

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After four hours of a kicking child, an awful movie, microwave-ready burritos and actually decent salted peanuts, the plane landed in the local airport. She was mildly surprised to see that Tucker was waiting for her in the lobby, currently without his trademark hat and smile. He stood glumly in the shadows, arms tucked to his chest and staring after her.

"How'd you know…?" She began before eyeing his new and improved PDA and sighing. "You can hack into airport files now? I underestimated you." He cracked a weak and obviously forced smile before embracing her briefly.

"No one else knows you're coming, not even Jazz. I was afraid that…you know, he can go invisible and listen in. I called you when I was sure he was busy wreaking havoc elsewhere." He said without a trace of jest. Her face revealed everything, her undying hope that this was all some sort of nightmare beginning to fade as she heard Tucker's voice.

"And his parents, how can they not know?" She questioned worriedly, following her host as he headed toward his car anxiously, looking about in paranoia.

"It's been played down so much that you can't believe it. A lot of the town is…influenced. We're in total lockdown mode, it's lucky I was able to get this far without being followed…what's with the clothes?" He asked, giving her the once-over.

She fought the growing blush as she wrestled with her outfit, realizing how un-her the entire ensemble was. "I had a meeting and I barely had time to pack before I…" The weight of his words struck her as she ducked into the '99 Saturn. "Wait…_lockdown mode, _you mean I can't get out?" It was now evident that he changed the topic just to avert this little statement.

He did not answer, starting the car with a minimal mode of difficulty before it began to sputter through the parking lot and was spit out onto the highway. "Tucker." She said warningly, feeling her infamous temper flare as she clutched the door handle and felt it buckle.

"Okay, okay!" He admitted, giving into her mode of persuasion. "People can come in but they can't go out, at least they can't if they're _you._" She froze, her face twisted with bewilderment.

"What…do you mean?" She said slowly, fighting the overwhelming urge to hit him and take control of the wheel, though apparently it was too late. "Tucker, please tell me that you're not saying what I think you're saying."

"I'm not saying what you think I'm saying." He said obligingly, though the furtive look in his eyes divulged otherwise. Feeling her violet eyes boring into his forehead like a gun fixed on its mark, he finally responded honestly. "Okay, if you think I'm saying that I've saved a bunch of money on car insurance by switching to Geico you're wrong, but if you think that I'm telling you that you're trapped in Amity Park you are right on the dot. What's your prize?" He said nervously.

She began to panic, recalling her position and assurance to Tim of her return. "What…can't I drive out of here?" She pleaded worriedly; her eyes alight with fright.

He shook his head gravely, the car rolling downhill toward the familiar building before her. "Roadblocks, they'll check the entire car, there are ghosts _everywhere, _mostly intangible. And we don't have Danny on our side to warn us against them. A lot of the town has run away, the part that he didn't want, anyway." Her palms were sweating and her stomach clenched in disbelief. "The wonders of modern technology, even if I was able to kick the cameras and somehow sneak you on flight with a jazzy pseudonym, it's doubtful that you would not be caught and captured."

"I promised myself I'd never come back here." She said under her breath, staring in horror at the massive place before her.

"Yeah, so did I, remember?" He stated grimly, parked the automobile and in a gentlemanly manner opening the door for her and bowing.

"Can't we go somewhere else, please?" She begged, but knew the answer. The horrifying Casper High School was their final destination.

"This place…oh, the memories, oh the memories that make me crave for a walk down amnesiac lane." She muttered, ignoring Tucker's gesture and glancing up at the structure and all of its grandeur. "What about school, is it over, canceled, rain check?" She asked, toting her bag up the deserted stairwell. It felt like not all that long ago she, Tucker and Danny had loitered in that very same spot, waiting until the last possible moment to flee to class, this often resulting in detentions from none other than the horrid Mr. Lancer.

"Pretty much," He summed up, taking out a heavy brass key and undoing the chains that held the doors. Upon her furtive look of curiosity he explained, "It's just for show. Sometimes Danny…_he _comes to check up on me personally. We're trying to retain the normal amount of weirdness in an abandoned building." She nodded dazedly, groping the lockers as they moved forward. She passed her own and attempted her old combination, only to find that it no longer worked. "We have to get to 'headquarters.'" She didn't like the sound of that.

Apparently the cafeteria in its entire splendor was the newest beacon, with Jazz manning or should I say _wo_manning the station. She looked her age and made every year look good, her waist length red hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, tickling her back. Her eyes widened in shock as she spotted both Sam and her bags and before Sam could so much as brace herself she was being nearly throttled by the woman.

"Oh, it's you, it's you! Ah, Tucker, you didn't say a thing!" She was her usual bubbly and somewhat bossy self. Sam could not say what it was she expected, a war torn version of her, Rambo-Jazz? Her face suddenly fell as she observed her brother's old friend cautiously, the light dying from her eyes. "He'll know you're here, Tucker Foley, were you careful?" She barked in furious disbelief, stomping her heel down onto the linoleum.

"What'd you mean?" She panicked, looking at herself in confusion. Sam could not decipher what in the world she was talking about.

"I too was careful!" He cried out childishly, trying to find the item of offense but found none, though his eyes lingered on her earrings.

Jazz turned to Sam with tired impatience, "He has _everything _under observation, including the airport!" She snapped loudly, gesturing to the tag clipped onto her suitcase. "Tucker, move your car." She commanded, and once he had turned she had already changed her mind. "No, it's too late. They've got to have you pinned already, no, maybe not, keep on going." Her indecisiveness was giving Sam a headache.

Once Tucker had vacated the premises she spoke, "What happened to Danny? I still don't understand what's going on…how can he be…evil?" She seemed reluctant to say the word and Jazz glanced at her sympathetically.

"It's a long story and no, we don't have time." Sam shut her mouth, swallowing the rebuttal that had already been discarded before it was voiced. "We've got to get geared up, Tucker's been able to maintain a position of non-action throughout all this, and that's made him pretty neutral, they won't attack him. He's the brains, not the brawn and all these ghosts understand is power." She explained hastily, suiting up hurriedly in a pink jumpsuit that was so similar to her mother's that Sam was briefly taken aback.

"And me? I'm guessing I'm going to be pretty high on the kill list if I get involved." Jazz nodded in agreement; though it was evident she was not really listening.

"I have some gear that might fit you, it's some of Valerie's old stuff. Might be loose around the, er, posterior, but other than that I think it'll be okay." She said oddly, tossing her a chrome outfit from out of nowhere. "We're definitely a minority, there's only a few of us and most of them are in a position of non-action, like Tuck. Spies and stuff, just as dangerous-"

Sam cut her off, "But without the jazzy jumpsuits." She smiled in return; glad their newest ally was doing her best to make light of the situation. "I can't join this 'war', Jazz." And like that the smile dissolved. "I have a life somewhere else, and I can't drop everything. I really want to help, but this is impossible. Tucker didn't…he didn't say anything about all of this. It was really cryptic and I can't just fall into the resistance." If this was what Jazz had expected of Sam she had a very bad way of showing it.

"But…but you're _Sam, _you and Tucker were with Danny before I even knew about him being a half-a, or whatever the other freaks call him. You're the only one that can do anything about all this. The next step is to bring in the government, something that Danny could definitely dodge easily. How simple would it be for him to possess the president, or a military leader? He's not a kid anymore; he's a force to reckon with. Where he was all awkward and stuff, not he's basically a genius. No matter what we do, he's always going to win, unless we kill him. And now that's becoming a possibility." This caught Sam's unwavering attention, just as Jazz had definitely supposed it would.

"That's out of the question, he's _your brother, _and you can't just just kill_ him!_" She hissed angrily, as though afraid that the rhetoric ghosts of the past would hear her. Satisfied, Jazz smirked.

"Exactly, and we need someone here who understands that. This is a retrieval mission, not search and destroy. Tucker's smarter than I gave him credit for, he realized that you were the perfect person to assist us." Sam bristled as the realized the evident attempt to get her goat, but said nothing on the matter.

"I can't leave, Tucker told me that I'm stuck here until this is over, unless I can get plastic surgery, but that's way too 'in' right now." She stated, feeling a horrible sinking feeling as she realized that she was, indeed, trapped. Jazz grimaced knowingly as she gestured for Sam to help zip up her suit. "It's so…bright." Sam complained, wincing as the light reflected off the nearly neon pink outfit.

Jazz whirled around sharply and narrowed her eyes, "You got a problem with jumpsuits?"

**just needed to correct something that Leppers pointed out to me. it would be VERY unlike Sam to have a leather suitcase, so this is corrected! update by monday afternoon.**

**Sorry, such a blatant rip-off, but I couldn't help myself! I have a disease, help me! Tell me what you think, seeing as this chapter is nearly three times the length of any others.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Depending on how many reviews I get I could update tomorrow, but if I only get a few I'll do it some time later this week.**

Sam was entirely in the dark as to how it was humanly possible for both Jazz and Tucker to sleep on the cafeteria tables comfortably, while her body simply screamed for the comforts of the mattress both she and Tim shared. The small woolen blanket covered no more than her midsection as the vent ahead blew out cold air. After two sleepless hours had passed she ultimately decided to get up and look for herself, a ruse that not even she could entirely believe.

Once in the depths of the darkened hallway and out of earshot, she whipped out her life support- the cell phone. He was number three on her speed-dial, only shortly after her boss and voicemail. She knew it was late just as well as she knew that he was not yet asleep. Impatiently he lifted the phone up after the second ring, a habitual routine. "Hello?" He said gruffly, his worry shining through.

"We have caller ID, you know it's me." She said tiredly, raking her unpolished fingernails through dark hair. "I'm fine, and I've just been able to get away. It's worse than we thought, Jazz-" She no longer had to lie about her involvement, "Has told me that it's much worse than we thought, and I can only talk for a minute. Everyone else is asleep." She quickly, explained, furtively glancing over her shoulder.

Tim seemed to take this in for a moment before speaking, obviously controlling the impulse to overreact. "So, everything's okay? Nothing's going on that I can help with?" He asked, already knowing the intrepid response.

"Yeah, it's all fine." She said nervously, twiddling her earrings briefly before sighing. "Just-be safe, alright? I'll be home in a few weeks." She promised tentatively, not quite sure whether this was fact or fiction.

"A few weeks? I'm not sure your editor will be kosher with that…" The projection was obvious and slightly admirable. It was not 'her editor' he was worried with, but it was himself. She noted this and smiled nervously. "I'm going to miss you. Call when you can, alright?" He questioned nervously, and she could picture him plucking at his fingernails.

"I'll miss you too, okay? I've just got to go." She said, quickly slapping the lid of her flip phone down before anything else could be said that might tempt her to reveal her true reason for travel to him.

"Was that the boyfriend?" She tensed slightly at the sound of Tucker's soft voice and she nodded accordingly.

"He was nervous, obviously I couldn't just tell him that I was off ghost hunting, be back when my old best friend is done attempting to rule the world." She wondered how he would react to such information, whether or not he was laugh nervously or just gape in silence.

"Why does he think you're here?" He asked, walking her back to the cafeteria.

"He really doesn't know, I told him that Jazz asked for my help and that I'd be back later. He trusts me enough to believe what I tell him." Her stomach did a belly flop as she realized that she did not truly deserve this trust, but she swallowed the realization as quickly as it had surfaced.

Tucker nodded, evidently still exhausted from lack of sleep. "Does your back ever get stiff, sleeping on that?" She asked without thinking, and he seemed mildly surprised by the question.

"Yeah, it does. Usually I go to my place but I thought it was better that I lay low until I'm sure _he _doesn't know that you're here. If I go out they could…get the information, whether I want them to or not." The insinuation was crystal clear and Sam required no more knowledge.

"I'm not sure how long I can keep telling him that everything's okay and that I'll be back in a few weeks before he gets his butt on a plane and zooms down to Amity Park and becomes the damsel in distress." She savored the image for but an image before wrapping the woolen blanket around her.

Tucker observed her belongings and, in shock, dropped the suitcase and scattered her clothing. "Tuck!" She exclaimed in exasperation, scooping up the clothes by the armful. "Be careful-" He cut her off, a bemused sort of uncertainty washed over him like a wave.

"Dear God is that leather?" He questioned, poking at the bag tentatively, as though fearing his own demise if he were to anger the blasted thing. Sam's face contorted into an angry shock, as though offended by the surmise.

"Oh, no! How could you…you _ever _think that I would…ugh?" She exclaimed, barely able to look at the device without flinching. "It's textured pleather, I thought you knew me." He released his breath, relieved that she had not so fixedly altered in their years apart. "Just for that _you _get to sleep under the vent." She huffed, snatching her blanket and stomping (it was not so easy without her combat boots) off to his designated area.

He muttered, but made no further objection before sinking down onto the glorified table and shivering for a few moments before resigning to the ground.

_XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX_

A booming resonated on the metallic and unfeeling walls, moments later spreading open to welcome whoever dared enter his 'lair'. Danny cherished the word as something every James Bond villain needed to be any sort of a threat, an area where no one should enter unless they were entirely brave or entirely stupid.

Skulker kneeled before him as though Danny were on a throne of some sorts, while he was simply resigned to a high-tech computer chair along with thousands of scattered papers. "Have the rumors been proven false, or is it necessary we take definite action?" His deep and now masculine voice reverberated off of every corner, his green eyes glowing expectantly.

"Sir, it appears to be true that one Samantha Manson-" at that moment her face appeared on a cloth-covered wall, just as it always did in any decent spy thrillers. "Has definitely infiltrated AP, alongside a neutral." Danny frowned in dismay, wondering how such a major event could occur without his knowing.

"Which neutral wishes to give up his or her amnesty?" The thought of his sister immediately sprung to mind, but he dismissed that notion as soon as it came. In no universe would she be considered technically nonaligned.

"T. Foley." The words were spoken with ominous precaution, the grave information driving Danny to finally express some sort of interest in the subject matter.

"Tucker Foley has at long last entered? Hmm, I thought him too much of a coward to do such a daring move. He could be a puppet." It was not a suggestion, though he seemed to think better of it. "Wait, why would his master send him out to pick up a potential ally? It would be best for anyone, despite their plan of action, to keep Tucker out of the line of fire." He thought aloud, turning to the picture of Sam broodingly. "You are dismissed." He stated carelessly, his eyes boring into hers as he ignored Skulker easily. The instant the door had shut Danny came to his feet, approaching the projection cautiously.

"Oh, Sam, oh, Sam, what are we to do with you?" He already had an idea or two.

**It's shortish but still over 1,000 words so…I hope u enjoyed! Give me positive and negative feedback and to Leppers, I corrected the error in the previous chapter, thank you for pointing out the inconsistency.**


	5. Chapter 5

I was sick yesterday but the chapter's finally out! Tell me what you think, criticism or no I appreciate it.

It was even worse than a nightmare. The mere thought of awakening to Tucker's face directly next to hers was enough to cause her to cringe, and his closeness resulted in a loud scream. Sam leapt up, brandishing her fists like weapons and slapping him across the face as a natural reaction. He winced in pain before pushing her down to the ground. "Are you nuts?" He squealed, and Jazz turned to face the both of them in awe and confusion.

"Wakey-wakey Sammy." She teased, flourishing a needle and strand of string in her right hand. "I'm almost done refitting that suit for you. You'll look like an X-Man in no time." She promised, tossing two grainy sorts of breakfast bars in her general direction. Caught off guard, Sam only succeeded in swatting them at Tucker.

"Hey!" He shouted obtusely, throwing them back at their intended target before pouting. "Why don't I get a fancy jumpsuit?" He questioned with an expression so laughable that both Sam and Jazz broke out into peals of giggles, which he did not appreciate. "I'm in an abandoned building with two hot girls-" The objects of his scrutiny blushed. "And _still _they'd rather laugh at me than flirt with me!" He whined with only partial seriousness, which was good for his ego when the pair made no attempt to apologize.

When Sam grew tired of the 'emasculate Tucker' game she finally spoke, "What about the rest of the gang, is there anyone else around who comes down to headquarters?" Her sarcasm was noted and rewarded with a frown by the alpha-leader herself.

"A lot of them are incognito, but we have a few field-agents who report back via some of the FentonWorks paraphernalia, the nasal walkie-talkies, the poltergeist-pager, stuff that can keep us off any radar that _he _might have laid out for us." She was grim but concise. "You'd be surprised at our arsenal, if _he _knew what we had, I doubt he'd be playing complacent specter." She commented with a touch of pride that was easy to identify. "If we still had…" There was an uncomfortable beat in which both Tucker and Jazz exchanged a 'should we tell her' look that disappeared the instant Sam noted it. Tuck even began to whistle innocently while Jazz twiddled her thumbs.

"What?" Sam questioned evenly, her ability to contain her emotions and compose any and all telltale expressions that may betray her curiosity. The two ghost hunters looked at one another before glancing at themselves and simultaneously mouthed '_moi?' _Sam was sick of playing coy. "Okay, what happened? I get that you won't tell me about Danny-" They flinched at the name, reacting like one in JK Rowling's universe may respond to the mention of Voldemort. "but whatever is going on that you've been walking on eggshells over can't be a secret anymore." She was a master of persuasion, though she rarely had to use this talent when she could always threaten and pummel before.

Tucker glanced at Jazz helplessly and she glanced at him softly before he spoke. "It was over a year ago, when all of this started to get serious. Valerie went up against him, but Jazz really didn't want her to. She…wanted to take him out, and thought that she could with her ghost-suit and cool Green Goblin glider. She didn't even last three minutes before she…" He trailed off and, taking the cue, Jazz continued.

"We don't know if she's still alive or not, but last we saw she was pretty much lobotomized, a mindless servant that did her _master's _bidding whenever he wanted. We haven't seen her since and…that's when I called Tucker in to duty." She was surprised. Sam had expected from the emotion in his voice that he had relayed a past event that he himself had witnessed, but she supposed that the residual attraction he harbored for Valerie must have held some withstanding.

"We have some people getting info for the cause, but I thought it was better if we kept the main circle…limited." Jazz continued on cheerfully, pushing the Valerie incident to the back of her mind. "You, of course, are in." She said, gesturing to Sam. "Tucker has insight, but his position of neutrality definitely bars involvement. Until he shows some sort of aggression that may cause alarm, he's pretty safe. They've got to suspect that he's practically our single source for information, but right now the bad guys have bigger fish to fry than some geek with a PDA." She stated grimly.

"Hey!" Tucker cried, though made no sort of argument for his undisputed coolness.

Sam ignored his indignation and continued to search for some basic knowledge. "What's their current goal, are they stocking up or trying to get roots in politics?" She questioned curiously, wondering how they intended to continue with whatever 'take over the world' plan they might have hatched.

"Right now it's just gathering Intel from reliable sources, trying to make allies. They've turned the Ghost Zone inside out searching for recruits; they basically have every ghost imaginable fighting for their team, plenty of them are in there because of…_him, _but that doesn't matter. They go where the power goes.

"The rest is guesswork and so far Dash and I have settled on the idea that once their 'army' is complete they intend on not actually using it at first, just threatening us, policing the streets. Practically a total dictatorship, but they're worse than Stalin or Hitler, they can infiltrate technology-" _Technus. _"Go invisible, search houses, and confiscate any anti-ghost equipment that could cause them trouble. We don't know what's going to happen from there, but it's not going to be pretty." Over the resentment of rightly being named a geek, Tucker agreed.

"We'd be under total control. _He's _united them, where the ghosts couldn't succeed on their own; now they can in numbers. He's organized all of this, and we're going to be little slaves on the sidelines if we don't do something about it."

Sam smiled, licking her currently unpainted lips. "All those years of teenaged rebellion are finally going to count for something!" She exclaimed nervously. "So what are we, the last resistance?"

Jazz sighed before nodding in accordance. "With all the other evil dictators that took over, there were limits. Minds were holy ground, and now that's violated. Even Tucker can't do to computers what that technology-guy can, nothing will be sacred anymore, free will completely out the rhetoric window." Sam brightened at this briefly while Tucker frowned deeply at the mention of that fiend Technus.

"Wait, free will? Hmm, could Danny just be controlled like when he was with Freakshow?" She wondered aloud, suddenly excited. The unchanging expression on her two comrades faces deterred her.

"I thought that too, at first, but it looks like he's doing this the Celine Dion way, all by himself." If it weren't for the solemn significance of this Sam would have laughed at the reference. "There's no signs of foul play, but by now I think that it would be evident if he was being controlled by someone or thing." Samantha nodded, but was hungry for more answers.

"Have either of you…seen him, or made contact?" She wondered aloud.

Jazz shook her head and Tucker nodded simultaneously. "No-"

"Yes, he came to see me after I moved back, found it kind of funny that I was stupid enough to come back. I told him that I wanted to help and he laughed in my face, but he warned me to stay out of it…"

Sam smiled slightly, "A warning that you really didn't listen to?" He blushed slightly but nodded in agreement.

"Exactly, I'm not going to let some ghost boy tell me what to do…" As though by preplanning at this blue lights began to flash in a seizure-causing pattern as a massively rusted barrier dropped from the ceiling and closed the group of three in. Sam gasped and Jazz took a more productive measure of action, rolling to the ground and scooping up three high tech looking weapons, tossing two of them to her comrades and keeping one gun of choice for her own use.

"Aim to capture, not kill boys and girls." She bellowed despite the fact that there was only one of each gender excluding herself. "Ghost barrier, activate." She barked, a wall of intangible matter forming around the cafeteria. "Only shoot if it's an ND, nothing else. Tuck, call for back up!" His PDA was in his hand, at the ready as he quickly selected several options from a list.

"What's an ND?" Sam asked, struggling to steady her weapon and aim toward…well, anything.

"Not Danny," He muttered, casting his own protection aside. He was not a violent sort of person and never had been inclined to be so; his technology was all he needed. "Try to sprinkle tracking devices to any you can't hope to capture, get articles of clothing and hope they don't phase out of them." Both Tucker and Jazz were entirely different people in battle, and this did nothing but worry their newest companion.

"Surrender your defenses to the APPS immediately and no harm will come to you." Despite his deepened voice and perpetual stance of indifference Sam could identify Danny from a mile away.

"Go to hell, Ghost Boy!" Jazz cried out, certain he was preparing to breach the perimeter. A tense pause followed as Sam spotted a flash of green out of the corner of her eye.

"Tucker Foley, neutral 718, if you yield the _tourist_ your position of inaction will be regained." He was teasing them now, mainly his two old friends.

"You're not getting Sam, not now not ever." He shouted, in response, wielding his PDA like a deadly weapon.

"Have it your way." This was Skulker's easy to identify voice, and Jazz whirled her own anti-ghost-ray in that direction.

"Hey, Fenton, if you want me, come and get me! Just leave Tuck out of this!" She roared, not even realizing that it was she who had spoken until the words had left her mouth. At this the crimson shield flickered cautiously as an irritatingly growing buzzing sounded all around them.

"If that's what you want," And this was the last thing Danny said before everything went dark and Sam could not help but wonder what she had gotten herself into.

FINALLY! It's took me three days to get this chapter out, it was harder than I thought it would be. Reviews, flames, constructive advice, all is welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

I like this chapter a lot, it offers some more insight into the characters and has a few surprising developments. Please tell me what you think in a review!

Sam flinched as a bony arm reached for her face. "Night vision goggles," Jazz whispered into her ear, proceeding to use one hand to secure Sam's and another to secure Tucker's. With the glory of her jumpsuit and the goggles strapped across her eyes, Jazz looked horrifyingly similar to her mother, so much so that Tucker gaped at her.

The room was silent, and the ghost shield was seemingly broken beyond repair. "Raise it to the level of your eyes," Sam advised to Tucker, whose years of 'Mortal Combat' had not seemed to improve his direction or form. He took her advice, closing one eye in hope that it would provide steadier aim. "No, you have twice the chance of hitting your target with both eyes open." She could not help but be overwhelmingly relieved that she had received the cheap birthday present of a week's worth of lessons at the local firing range two years before.

"Assistance is on the way." Tucker stated proudly before snapping one eyelid open and aiming into the vast nothingness. A cold sweat broke out on Sam's hairline and she attempted to stay calm, reciting the lyrics to one of her favorite angry-Goth bands inside her head.

"Last chance for surrender hostiles." Skulker warned, but not a one of the three warriors desisted. Jazz pressed a mechanism on the side of her mask and Sam followed suit, finding her world of night vision suddenly brought into sharp focus. She saw Jazz habitually reach over and adjust Tucker's as well, and he seemed unsurprised by the advance…she had a few questions to ask the two of them.

The overused and incredibly dramatic word of 'fire' was never issued, though they all figured that there was some sort of signal seeing as in less than twelve seconds they were under a total and complete siege, courtesy of the one and only ghost boy…er, _man_.

Sam dodged a badly aimed ray with ease, lifting her weapon and firing three consecutive shots in the direction of the initial attack. An otherworldly shriek punctuated the inhuman silence as the ghost was temporarily terminated. She glanced over her shoulder long enough to see Tucker dive for Jazz, knocking her to the ground and helping her evade a beam of glowing green light.

She smiled briefly before leaping to her feet, firing in several directions and finding her unseen targets twice. The ghostly wails intensified and Sam purposefully dropped to her knees and scooped up a pair of pink earmuffs, weighing the embarrassment factor over her own safety, choosing to preserve her precious eardrums over her still-standing black obsession.

A ghost had finally approached them, no longer lingering in the sanctity of deep darkness that even the night vision goggles could not find. Sam and Tucker suddenly learned what the switch they had activated accomplished…they could see a ghost despite it's intangibility. Menacingly the creature fired a shot aimed for Tucker's lifeline…his PDA, but Jazz interfered by kicking up a small, compact mirror that deflected the shot and reversed it, causing its molecules to explode.

There was a ringing in Sam's head that she could not ignore as she fired off into the murky distance, realizing that this was her cell phone nearly a moment too late. She dove to the ground and discarded the hideous earmuffs as she turned on the device, dodging an attack and terminating yet another specter. "Hello, Sam Manson's phone." She stated professionally, knowing whom it was already.

"Where in God's name are you? You receive a promotion and test my patience by flying halfway across the country on some…some wild goose chase?" Her editor was furious, she could nearly see the smoke pouring out of his ears like in some sort of Wiley Coyote cartoon.

"I am incredibly sorry that I didn't report this before, but my cell died on me and I'm staying at a hotel with incredibly steep…er, phone rates." It sounded good, in theory. "But I have a possible lead, a woman named Jasmine Fenton keeps interesting house." An explosion sounded in the background and before he could comment she added quickly, "and she is an awful cook, but everything else is wonderful!" Not wishing to leave Jazz and Tucker to fend for themselves she covered the receiver and fired three shots, certain that at least one of them made contact with ectoplasm.

"Smile pretty for the camera, Miss Fenton!" She said sweetly, allowing her editor to hear the whir of her gun before it fired and the creature wailed. "Turn off that damned TV, it's distracting!" She called out, returning to the conversation at hand.

"You're not authorized to take pictures!" He was desperate for _something _to complain about and she was rather overjoyed that she could roll her eyes noticeably without consequence.

"I'll let Dana Photoshop them, alright? I have to go, duty calls!" She sang in a mock gleeful tone, shutting off the cell phone and firing once more into the darkness, joining her two friends.

"Was that call a matter of life or death?" Tucker mocked the tone he knew that Jazz would use and both girls blushed.

"I'm really sorry, it's just I can't have my…ah!" She shot at the creature quickly approaching and found her gun to be apparently out of whatever material it ran on. Improvising she thumped the ghost over the head, relieved that the gun in itself seemed capable of physically touching intangible ghosts. Until that point she hadn't realized that 'full' ghosts could actually faint. Jazz finished the poltergeist off with a single blast, though this time there was no sound emitted from the quote unquote victim.

A purple blast of light shone overhead like a glistening star, followed by several others. Sam caught the brief flash of a victorious grin that covered her face as three others stepped into the cafeteria, entirely covered in gear and holding weapons unlike their own. Tucker shot Jazz a look that mirrored the jealousy Sam wore proudly whenever Danny mooned over girls entirely out of his league…though this did not seem to be the case.

Dash emerged, his blond hair short and cropped and his muscles even larger and more toned than before. His fears of the reality after high school seemed to have been all for naught, he did not exactly seem like the sort of 'rings or fries?' man he had originally envisioned. Sam found it regrettably easy to realize why Jazz's eyes seemed to roam over his body and why Tucker and his scrawny figure could hold some sort of envy over her attention.

The next was a woman in her mid-thirties; ebony hair hacked off and eyes like dull mica, shining weakly. She was of a bigger build than both Sam and Jazz combined, but she looked powerful and menacing.

The third attacker surprised Sam to such an extent that she had to refocus her eyes twice to make sure that it was not sort of mirage caused by the anxiety of the situation, but there was no denying that the last of the three was the same out of shape, middle-aged teacher that they all knew and hated.

"Lord of the Rings, the Fellowship of the Ring!" She muttered under her breath in remembrance of Mr. Lancer's famous book title exclamations in a time of crisis. Before they could say anything to each other Sam whirled around and continued to battle, taking this on before facing the other disturbing reality as well. Out of the corner of her eye she swore that she saw Tucker take hold of Jazz's arm and pull her away from the approaching Dash before picking up his own discarded weapon and handing it to Sam.

This was going to be a long eternity.

Ha, gotcha there, didn't I? Next chapter will have Banny (bad danny) dialogue and such, it just didn't seem to fit in this one. Tell me what you think and if there is a beta out there, please tell me in your review, seeing as my own no longer returns my e-mails. Thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

This is mostly description, not much dialogue, though there is some by our favorite evil guy!

Dash cast Sam a look that she was supposedly not meant to catch and mouthed the very valid question 'what is she doing here?' Jazz frowned slightly, seizing him by the collar and tossing him bodily across the room to avoid a beam of light headed in his direction.

"You could've just pushed me!" He complained, dusting himself off spitefully before returning to the task at hand.

"Coulda, shoulda, woulda, what does it all mean?" Tucker questioned innocently, only to receive a death glare from the object of his offhand statement, a rather disgruntled Dash.

"I'd stay out of this Foley." He sneered, though stopped upon reviewing the expression on Jazz's face.

"When you're done with this macho contest, we have bigger ghosts to disintegrate." She warned dangerously, and Sam followed her example like any model pupil would. It was certainly worth the relieved smile she received courtesy of the jumpsuit-laden lady by her side.

Lancer was surprisingly well learned in the area of ghost fighting, more so than Tucker. He had nothing on either Jazz or Dash, but in comparison to the bumbling techno-geek to the side of them, frantically attempting to reset the protective wards to no avail. "We don't even know how many of them there are!" Sam called out over the noise, her eyes met by a very aware Jazz.

"Yeah, lets just hope that they give up." Neither of them believed it, they knew Danny…_before, _well enough to know perfectly well that he would not surrender unless every last one of his 'men' were dead/disintegrated and there was a gun pressed squarely to his temple. The thought gave the others hope while Sam and Jazz continued to battle in vain, certain that they were outnumbered and out-skilled but still optimistic.

Out of survival methods the group found themselves forming a circle and firing off at odd angles until the inevitable came. Two were out of ammunition and none were willing to brave the darkness in hopes of recovering any. Within ten minutes Jazz, too was out of ammo and Sam and the large woman were the only one with anything left.

Reacting without thought, Sam tucked her weapon against her hip and rolled to the floor, awaiting attack. Upon the first ghostly beam to narrowly miss her she retaliated swiftly before army crawling across the dusty linoleum and toward the cabinet where she had seen Jazz remove banshee-bullets. "DON'T SHOOT! I REPEAT, DO NOT AIM AT SAMANTHA MANSON!" She heard a familiar voice roar, and it took her a few moments to distinguish this as Danny…or whoever it was that he had become.

The siege on her ceased, apart from a neon-yellow light that seemed to narrowly miss her with every shot. Her hand flew to the drawer and with intentional hastiness she slid herself beneath the structure, fortunately shielding herself from the rays. Without thinking she snatched her gun and slid it across the floor to the nearly-weaponless, realizing within an instant that it might be necessary for her own survival.

Blindly she thrust a hand upward, feeling blindly for the handle. The revelation that her shoulder would not offer such a range of motion came briefly after and despite this knowledge she attempted in vain to do so, only ceasing when she was momentarily stunned by the rapid-fire of the yellow device.

Sam retreated back into the safety of the bureau, in her mind's eye replaying what she recalled Jazz doing hours before. It was with this that it struck her; the bullets were in the _bottom _drawer. With this realization fresh in her mind, she thrust her knee into the rigid wood atop her, splinters raining down upon her. Her nylon pantyhose tore after the second attempt, shards of broken lumber digging into her knee painfully. She did not feel the blood so much as see in dribbling onto the floor, but this did not stop her mission. Wrapping herself up very much like a contortionist she dug through the remaining wood using her feet, which were protected very snugly by her signature combat boots.

When the hole was large enough the debris stopped falling Sam rolled onto her side and inserted her hand, the grainy material splicing into her flesh. She let out an involuntary shriek of raw pain as one of the splinters dug into her forearm, the pain so blinding that she forgot her task for more than a brief moment. She believed her wail to have fallen upon deaf ears, so she continued her quest to the chagrin of her bleeding limbs.

It felt as though hours had passed before her hand closed upon the recognizable case and she maneuvered it out of the opening, wincing in pain. The sounds of shooting had faded and she was most certain that only one gun was working, if that. She stumbled in her own blood, her jaw connecting with the tile painfully before she was able to shimmy out from under the dresser. The instant her head was in plain shot a blast of yellow light skimmed the side of her cheek, leaving a scald mark. Quickly she rolled, the ammo in hand, and came to her feet and ran. The other ghosts did not dare to aim at her, but the yellow light seemed to be behind her at all times.

For the first time the holder stepped out of the shadows, his weapon visible and a grin dancing on his face. His white hair stood on end and his green eyes glowed menacingly, his biceps bulging and his thighs tensing as he moved in on her. If it were not for her longstanding anti-hunk position (apart from Tim, naturally), she would have stopped dead in her tracks just to stare in awe at him. She appeared immune, the adrenaline pumping through her veins and making her momentarily forget that her knee, arm and hand were badly injured.

"Hello, Samantha." With the blink of an eye he had split into two…no, three! One of his copies reached out for her and if it were not for her instincts he most definitely would have caught her. She dove forward, stumbling into the open arms of the furious Jazz before weakly passing her the ammunition.

"Goodbye, Daniel." She snarled before promptly losing her vision and collapsing into an unconscious heap. The smile playing on his untouchable lips haunted even her dreams.

Ha, I like the way this chapter turned out, and I hope my humble readers do as well. My math final's in ½ hour, so sayonara! And please, tell me what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**it took me a while, but by golly ive finally got it!**

Sam was nearly certain that death was no parallel to the excruciating pain that seemed to breathe inside her being. Every muscle ached, every tendon seemed to be on fire and, to worsen this little problem, for the second time in a week she awoke to Tucker's face far too near her own. Naturally, she screamed in indignation, though he seemed to pay it no never mind.

He weaved a sewing needle through the air, a near invisible strand of thread following. "Aren't you a morning person?" He questioned wryly, reaching for her arm and watching in amusement as she prepared herself for some sort of pain. "It's just stitches, baby." He joked, gesturing to her already sewn knee.

"Danny?" She grunted, her throat irritatingly dry and sore. He glanced at her pityingly, patting her shoulder tensely.

"No, it's _Tucker." _He stated with arrogant deliberation, fully meriting the slap that she delivered without hesitation. "They retreated after we reloaded, thanks to you. It is pretty bad, now that he knows you're here. Things are only going to get worse." And with those words of encouragement, Sam stretched lazily, observing the practically empty facilities.

"Where's Jazz?" She realized the mistake in this inquiry the instant Tucker's eyes darkened furtively.

"Talking..._with Dash. _Stupid muscly-armed, flexed abs, tight thighed jerk." Sam's dark eyebrow raised slightly in confusion, her head still swimming.

"I'm confused, Tuck, are you jealous of _Dash _or _Jazz?_" This stab at humor was entirely unappreciated and was rewarded with a rather rough jab with the needle.

"Neither, _I _don't care. If Jazz is going to take him back every time he rears his pretty little bullying head, that's her problem." He stated bravely, though everything in his expression and previous behavior suggested otherwise.

"So what happened with the two of them? I'm feeling sort of fish-out-of-water here." He bristled at the mention of their _former _relationship and Sam almost regretted bringing it up, _almost _being the imperative word.

"It was a while before this whole thing started, and she was getting into ghost fighting and so was Dash, unfortunately. I wasn't here, but from what I've heard...they were together for a while. I don't know who dumped who, but I think that Jazz finally came to her senses." He stated stoically, as though attempting to sound confident.

Sam smiled, finally coming to her feet, alarmed by the Jello-like consistency of her leg muscles, melting to the ground within an instant. "Whoa!" She exclaimed, a hand enclosing over the side of the cafeteria table as her legs came out from underneath her.

Tucker looked bashful, lazily leaning over in an attempt to help her. "It's the anesthetic, forgot to tell you that it can cause temporary loss of muscle control." She supposed it could be worse though she couldn't quite see how.

"Thanks for the head's up, Tuck." She stated sarcastically, turning as Dash and Jazz entered the room, the former with his hand placed casually on the latter's shoulder. She shrugged him off, looking surprisingly unassuming without her jumpsuit.

"Glad to see you awake, Sam." She stated brightly, increasing her speed and leaving Dash behind and ignoring his indignation with ease. "Did Tuck sew you up?" She questioned, frowning at Sam's current position. "Oh, the anesthetic. You didn't warn her?" The blush in reply seemed to be all the answer she needed.

"I'm fine." She stated, locking her knees and attempting to retain some sort of posture, as well as dignity. "Anything happen while I was out?" The very conspicuous exchange of eye contact between Dash and Jazz and then Jazz and Tucker answered that. "Alright," she said more to herself than to anyone else. "I have to call Tim, don't kill each other." She forewarned, stumbling into the empty hallway, cell phone in hand.

She didn't even recall dialing the number when Tim's voice sounded on the other line, sobering her significantly. "I'm all right, I'm trying to resolve the issue and I've sent the job a few text messages." She informed him, hoping to alleviate any stress.

"I'm coming down." He informed her, as though tempting her resolve and independence.

"No!" She blurted spontaneously, eyes widening and horrified objection echoing throughout the empty hallways. He was startled into a suspicious silence, and Sam knew that she would pay for this dearly.

"What's going on, Sammy?" he asked cautiously, and she was well aware of the fact that this was about to become an incredibly colossal argument.

"A friend is having some...issues and h..._she _is about to get into some serious stuff soon, it could be...bad." She finished lamely, comprehending the incredible vagueness which surrounded this.

She could practically hear the gears going in his head, turning slowly. "I want you to get out of there, it can't be safe. If you don't leave...I'm coming to Amity Park, that's what it's called, right?" She gaped, her expression reminiscent of a fish.

"Don't do that. I can handle it, I'm not in any danger." Her knee stung guiltily, and she had never in her life felt so completely pathetic before.

"If you're not done in a week...I'm coming to help you." This was non-negotiable. "I'm worried about you, and doesn't that Davey guy you were in love with in high school live there? I don't trust him around you." He informed her with blunt perseverance that she knew all too well.

"We'll talk about this later, Tim, okay? This isn't up for discussion right now, and even if it was I owe a friend a favor, and I'm making good on a promise." But he was no longer there, he had hung up on her, something he had beaten her to.

"Oh, Sammy, problems with your love life?" The back of her neck prickled, that voice sending a discernible chill up and down her spine. In her weakened condition, Sam was in no position to outrun Danny Phantom.

**Haha, I just cliffed ya! I worked hard on this chappie, so please, tell me what you think.**


	9. Chapter 9

**going on vacation for a few days, be back soon!**

Her hand unconsciously closed over the sharp, rusted edge of a nearby locker vent as she battled to keep her breathing regular. "I..." There were no words, no sort of witty banter that could possibly rectify that delightfully confused and terrified look that flitted across her face in perfect sync with his own gleeful grin.

"What's the matter? Ghost got your tongue?" He teased, his deep voice sending no unpleasant shivers up and down her arms. She took a deliberate step backwards, tremors tingling through the tendons inconveniently 'Jello-fied' by the recent arguable overuse of anesthetic.

"Nothing has my tongue," She stated bluntly, her mind momentarily drawing a blank and the following wince signified the fact that she had caught onto her own comment. His malicious grin did not fade and perhaps only brightened in intensity.

"I was wondering when Jazz would bring you in, I was surprised to find that Tuck also participated in this..._extremely _illegal situation." Her eyebrows unwittingly knit together.

"There was nothing illegal about it, unless he stole the car." She commented immediately, terrified to find him approaching stealthily.

"There are rules, obvious rules that have been spelled out in basically every language imaginable." He informed her formally.

"Arabic?" She choked out, alarmed by the cruel and malicious laugh that followed.

"I've missed you...and don't scream, you don't _really _want me to have to deal with more people than necessary, do you?" His word choice was painfully casual, this and the recent medication causing her knees to buckle. "I still get you weak in the knees, Sammy?" He reached his hand out and she stumbled backward, batting it away.

"No touchy, Daniel." Her tone mirrored that of Vlad Masters, a.k.a. Plasmius, and she was uncertain whether or not his reaction was prompted by amusement or anger. The resulting lunge seemed to answer that. Reflexively she released a shriek that could shatter eardrums, startling Danny just long enough for her to wriggle away.

"IT'S DANNY! IT'S DANNY!" She wailed in warning, barely avoiding the ecto-blast that he directed her way. Her rubbery legs flew into the air as she spun into the nearest locker, her head colliding with metal painfully.

"I'm going to make concussion history," Sam groaned, massaging her temple as she simultaneously propelled herself to her feet, just in time to dodge another attack. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a fully suited Jazz, and knew that Tucker and Dash had to be nearby.

"This wasn't supposed to be this way." Daniel spoke calmly, and despite her lack of knowledge concerning the 'new' Danny Phantom, Sam was an expert concerning the former. She was perfectly aware that he could have snatched her in a moment, but after years of being monologued perhaps he had grown accustomed to this...but she knew better. He harbored some sort of hope that her old allegiances would prompt her to join him willingly, even if common sense informed him that there was not a snow ball's chance in hell of this happening.

"Sam! Back it up!" Tucker roared, manning an actual weapon somewhat knowingly. She minded his words of wisdom, ducking below the line of fire and sliding across the linoleum, maneuvering around her comrades' legs.

"SAMANTHA!" The slight shiver Danny had given her before was nothing to this, an icy hand seemed to trail down her spine as his voice cracked like a pubescent boy, every letter resounding with raw emotion, and she could see Danny...not the thing he had became, but _Danny, _the boy she...

"Here!" Jazz interrupted her train of thought, shoving a complex gun into her grasp and quickly gesturing to the trigger before continuing her fruitless attack on her brother. "Capture, not destroy! CAPTURE!" She exclaimed, glancing pointedly at an unobservant Dash.

Tucker nodded, not bothering to break the sort of staring contest he and Danny were currently engaged in. "Roger that, Jazz." The delicious cliche that danced in that was enough to tug a smile onto Sam's face, though it faded just as quickly as it had appeared as Tucker was struck by the radioactive-green-goo, his hat flying into the air and his PDA crashing to the ground as Danny used this advantage to launch his old friend into his grasp, that cruel grin playing on his lips.

Jazz shrieked, firing pointedly at her brother, seeming to disregard the safety of her little brother with this new development. "Tucker!" She shouted, dropping her weapon wordlessly the instant Danny found it amusing to use Tucker Foley as a shield.

"I can break him in half, or more accurately, into quarters." He threatened, glaring pointedly at Sam as Jazz coaxed Dash into dropping arms. "But for old time's sake, I might just let him go." The unshielded terror that glowed in Tucker's eyes was not a force to be reckoned with.

"Danny, don't, he's not a hostile! You can't, he's a neutral!" Jazz declared in a betrayed manner. Her brother shrugged this off.

"I make the rules, I can break them. Agreement as a neutral is to not assist either side, and he not only fired a weapon at me, he also brought S. Manson, an unidentified, into the vicinity." He relayed in a bored manner, his eyes still boring into Sam's. "I am willing to negotiate a non-violent barter in the exchange of Tucker's life for the capture of the unidentified, Samantha Manson."

She frowned before correcting him, "how am I an 'unidentified' when you just said my name?" The old sort of tired annoyance flashed in Daniel's eyes, one of the few remnants of him that remained.

"No!" choked Jazz, yanking the top portion of her jumpsuit off and wiping the blossoming tears from her eyes. "Let him go, he can be reregistered and we will make no contact with neutral 718, it is unconstitutional to trade for the unaided capture of another." She replied in an equally former manner.

"No, the neutral has broken the agreement, surrendering his chance at amnesty along with a generous second offer in exchange for the outside force he has brought into this. It is up to my discretion to do as I wish with those who do not comply by the arranged rules." He informed her thickly, and she just as hastily retaliated.

"It can be construed as self-defense, you were attacking a non-participant and he was forced into action. All he intended by inviting said unidentified was for assistance, non violent."

The expression of utmost serenity was shattered by the hint of a genuine look of irritation, "This area is non-designated, not personal property, shattering your thesis. Now, it is up to S. Manson to either accompany me to base to be judged like so, or neutral 718 can be executed without formality." Jazz gaped, glancing unconsciously at Sam in terror.

His clutch on Tucker's throat tightened and the geek wheezed, his shoulders tensing and Sam felt guilty as she could not help but think, _like brother like sister. _"Tick tock Sam." It was an action of guilt in passion, and her selfish side wanted to refrain, but her common sense warned her otherwise. Once Tucker was dead he would take another, or perhaps just abduct her. Who was to say? He was far more powerful than she had anticipated.

With one look at the obviously distraught Jazz as her and Tuck's eyes met, Sam flinched and stepped forward. "Okay."

**I'm evil, I'm evil, but im not leaving until friday so reviews aplenty can result in an update!**


	10. Chapter 10

**im back!**

It only took a single moment as a smile flit across Danny's face before he propelled Tucker forward, snatching Sam's voluntary arm and waving mockingly before going intangible. Jazz dove forward, ripping the goo off of Tuck quickly to ensure his breathing as Dash chased after the specter, knowing that it was fruitless but attempting it nonetheless. Her cell phone clattered to the floor uselessly, the only remaining article.

Sam closed her eyes, trying to pretend that this was a dream...no, _nightmare _instead of facing the horrifying reality. His invisible arms wrapped around her roughly, his cheek pressed to the back of her skull as they whizzed through the air and away from safety and into the dark abyss known as Amity Park.

It was mere moments before she was thrust to the ground, her shoulder colliding roughly with linoleum before she realized that she was in some sort of facility, god knows how far she was from the school. Before she could bring herself to her feet she was forced into an upright position, twin metallic devices attached to her wrists by cold hands. She was able to battle Danny as he attempted to do the same to her ankles, her arm flying up and colliding with his jaw.

He reached for the bruise, his eyes alight with confusion as he glared at her and returned to favor. She was unaffected, thrashing against his hold and skidding away. "Don't touch me," She snarled, her combat boots acting as protection.

He lazily flicked his hand and she soared through the air, her hands heavy, colliding with the wall forcefully. She screamed involuntarily, wincing in pain as she writhed against the somewhat solid surface, the 'bracelets' binding her to the wall. "Magnets? Hmm, never thought that was your style, Daniel." She sneered, her legs thankfully free and fully capable of struggle.

"Well, I've made several adjustments, many of my allies found it unwise to have an insecure facility. This is my newest creation, why not use it to my advantage." He maintained a considerable distance, and Sam was aching to kick him square in the jaw.

"Yeah, sure." She stated obtusely, leaning forward in an attempt to break the force's hold.

He laughed slightly, the mild maniac chuckle reserved for villains. "Don't bother, a purple back gorilla couldn't break it, only I can." He teased, taking a bold step forward, going intangible at the perfect moment as her legs flailed at him. "If you let me put the cuffs on your ankles, you'll be free to roam the room." _Wow, the whole 810 space. _She thought morosely. "If now, I can force you to stay still."

She smiled grimly, "I'll take my chances." He shrugged before going entirely invisible. "Damn," She muttered, feet extended at the ready. At the opportune instant she kicked forward, only to have her ankle captured by the invisible phantom as he clamped on the metal cuff, his hands resting for perhaps a bit too long on her calf. He did the same with the other leg, fingers gently rising up the tibia before resting on her knee. She stiffened, eyes traveling up to the blank ceiling as she attempted to take her mind away unsuccessfully.

When he reappeared Daniel was grinning devilishly, his hand still resting on her leg. She shrugged him off, turning away and swallowing. "What do you want?" It was a stupid question, the one asked in every idiotic horror movie known to man, but it was necessary, nonetheless.

He chose to ignore this, prompting a new topic of his own. "You're not stupid, are you Sammy?" she did not dignify this with a response. "There is no possible chance for escape, and attacking me while only be punished with a swift reprimand." To put it mildly. Before she could even think to ask what these warnings were for, he released her without warning, watching in amusement as she dropped to the ground.

"Thanks for the warning," She complained, rubbing her irritated wrists sourly. Defensively she came to her feet, her ebony hair mussed from the constant torture it had to suffer.

"I have some business to attend to, Sammy, but please, if you are ever in need of anything that I approve of, do not hesitate to call the help." He stated as civilly as possible, going intangible and walking directly out of the closed area.

Sam wasted nearly twenty minutes of searching the room for a weakness before she surrendered to the ground sullenly. With nothing to do but think, she rehashed their entire conversation for a moment, her mind stuck on one of two things. "The help?" She said aloud, instantly remorseful as she flew to the wall once more, this time aided by her ankle cuffs as well.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a figure stepped out, her face blank and completely without expression. Sam went limp, her eyes like saucers as she recognized the servant, everything the same as she remembered apart from the eyes...the dead eyes.

"Valerie?"

**im feeling sincerely out of it, so please, constructive criticism is appreciated.**


	11. Chapter 11

I am so sorry that this has taken so long; I can't even believe how long I've put this off. I really like this story and have no intention of letting it slip through the cracks, though the updates with admittedly be fewer and further in between.

/TWO WEEKS- SAMANTHA MANSON MIA FOR SIXTEEN DAYS AND FOUR HOURS.\

Timothy Otis could hardly believe himself, what he was willing to risk on a girl who had lied to him for the better part of two years. He couldn't stand his own weakness; his resolve was not strength. Any logical person would have hesitated when a man, out of breath and sounding all shades of sketchy, called his home number from Sam's cell phone. It was like some poorly plotted horror movie, a small town trapped by ghouls that exacted their own brand of the law. Why in the hell would he dare venture there, to Amity Park, when he knew that no good would come of it? And yet he did not so much as hesitate to jump into his Saturn and floor it through a colorful variety of states.

This Tucker Foley character wasted no time on pleasantries, he had simply and dryly explained the situation, panic evident but not taking precedent. Tim was no fool, he knew that his informant had neglected to elaborate on certain portions of their experience; he could hear it in his voice and sense it in his demeanor. He played brainless lackey, asking for the time and the place before he took an extended absence and filed his girl missing, per instructed.

Any rational human being would question Sam's motives, her reasoning behind lying to him. The thought that Tucker could be delusional briefly surfaced but was soon after dismissed, his story made more sense than the cryptic one he had been reluctantly given. The car trip consisted of second-guessing and cursing Sam's name to the high heavens, but he never considered turning back. It had never been an option; she was his girl and he was not about to abandon her.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

"How in hell can we trust this guy?" Dash was not revered for his subtlety. Pacing had become a custom to the crew, and every source was beyond exhaustion when Tucker had contacted 'the boyfriend', as he was so lovingly referred to as.

"He loves Sam, he can help." Tucker said simply, not bothering to pay any sort of attention to Dash's scowling.

The blond man was not so convinced, "how could you even know that? He could be calling up every reporter in existence to sell this, and if he does...we're all as good as dead. When silence is broken what use are the bargaining chips?"

Tucker was unmoved, "I could hear it, and I know what it sounds like." His eyes were fixed on Jazz, who happened to be far out of earshot, attending to equipment. Dash did not take well to this, following his gaze with rapid succession. For a meathead he was awfully perceptive.

"Maybe she could never see him like that, and he's wasting his time." This allusion had positively no pretense, though Tucker feigned ignorance.

"They've been living together, of course she sees him like that." He stated, brow furrowed, knowing that he was risking physical injury. Dash stepped forward, his breadth somehow more intimidating when directly before him.

"You think I'm blind? D'you think I can't see what's right in front of me?" He questioned, teeth grit and stance menacing.

"That would explain your low interception average in high school…" Tucker commented smugly, as though he were the one with the six inches of additional height and years of weight training.

"Hey…not cool." Dash barked, struggling for the perfect geek-related retort when a familiar voice unknowingly interrupted the escalating argument.

"Hey, guys, someone's here...and he's cute!" Jazz exclaimed, reemerging from behind a high-tech periscope, momentarily oblivious to the daggers being exchanged between her two special little fellows.  
"That eliminates Tim." Tuck muttered beneath his breath, already having conjured up an entire persona and appearance for Sam's significant other. He imagined at least three piercings and a tattoo. When he came face-to-face with the actual man, bewilderment instantly clouded Tucker's features.

Jazz immediately introduced herself, having toned down from the neon suit into sweats and a T-shirt. "This ghost thing, it's for real?" It was in his first question that the crew discovered that, like Sam, Tim had the tact of a storm trooper.

"It's for real." Dash affirmed, positioning himself adjacent to Jazz, possessiveness and hostility pouring off of him in waves. "We don't have a chance in hell without some more able bodies, you in or out?" He asked, tilting his chin inquisitively.

"Is Sammy top priority?" Tim shot back bitingly, his tongue razor sharp.

"Yes!" Tucker and Jazz exclaimed in an entirely jinx-worthy moment, eyes meeting and averting for a single unmistakable moment. Dash ignored it with great difficulty, nodding slowly and with evident uncertainty.

"Than do you even need to ask?" The tension alleviated, but by no stretch of the imagination alleviated. Jazz, acting in her infamous role as peacemaker swooped in with complex plans as well as a kind offer for a jump suit, one hastily withdrawn the instant a snickering Dash referenced the X-Men.

Jazz stalked off, fuming only slightly, a reaction Dash in turn overreacted to. Tucker clamped an open palm over Tim's shoulder, smiling with sadism as the sweet sound of Jazz's shrill angry voice broke the unofficial silence.

"Welcome to the team, bro."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Samantha had lost hope. It was a clichéd happening that she had often times seen in cinema, but she never truly believed that she could ever experience it. She had been wrong.

Daniel allowed her any knowledge she may stumble upon; he kept nothing secret or sacred. His confidence was her hindrance; he knew perfectly well that there was no danger of her escape. How would she possibly achieve that? Toothpick, shoelace, bobby pin? She wasn't MacGuyver; even the geekdom of Tucker could not possibly escape the elaborate prison Daniel Fenton had constructed.

Try as she may, try as she might she could not coerce any sort of explanation. Unlike in Bond movies he did not pace about her prison cell twirling an imaginary mustache, eager to reveal any and all important grand schemes. He was open and flippant, sarcastic and cruel and all the while she could not bring herself to despise him, the only ill will she was capable of harboring was resentment of what he had done to a once great man-and this he would pay for…eventually.

Sorry to fangirls like me who were longing for some Banny dialog but I'm kind of rushed, my computer does not allow me to post updates and I am using my aunt's seeing as I'm babysitting her kids. Tell me, what do you think? I tried to beef it up a little bit, but to get it posted tonight I fear it had to be this length.


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